


An Arrow for the Heart

by wintercreek



Category: due South
Genre: Community: ds_con_envy, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-03
Updated: 2009-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 09:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/pseuds/wintercreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hardly ever hears him around the 27th, this Ray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Arrow for the Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aingeal8c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aingeal8c/gifts).



> Prompt #17 Vecchio/E Besbriss with the prompt - "Okay, who told you that?" for Aingeal8c.
> 
> _"The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice." - Lord Byron_ Written for the [ds_con_envy](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_con_envy/) MJ2009 fic exchange. And thanks very kindly to China_shop for an awesome, speedy beta!

She hardly ever hears him around the 27th, this Ray. At the precinct, on duty, he's always "Vecchio," and it's a hard, bitten-off rendition of his name. He speaks that way too, more often than not, and her name doesn't lend itself to being bitten off so instead it's yelled, "E-LAINE!" with an impatient lean on the last syllable. Sometimes he says "Fraser" with a fonder articulation, even though they're at the precinct. Mostly not.

Here it's different. Elaine's in the kitchen in her socks and slippers, feet always cold in a Chicago winter. Her jeans and t-shirt are spattered with oil from the stove and a few spots of tomato sauce stain the pale fabric, too. She doesn't have to call him "Vecchio" as he leans over, one arm around her waist and the other stealing the wooden spoon from her hand. He tastes the marinara and she sighs, "Ray..."

"Tastes pretty good, Elaine," and there it is, the softer version of her own name, the smile that puts a light in the back of his eyes and crinkles the corners. "I might make a passable Italian of you yet." He kisses her cheek, and she's back there on the street in front of the courthouse, Ray's case notes in hand. She'd been scared for him, but she knew he'd come back to her. He did that day, he and Fraser, outmaneuvering the bad guys. What she'll always remember is the moment when Vecchio jumped out of the car, all smug satisfaction at a job well-done, ready to march back into the judge's chambers clad in ego and surety - and as she handed off his case notes, it all fell away and Ray stood there, kissing her cheek, murmuring, "Thanks, Elaine."

From that memory to here, now, it's only natural that she should voice it. "You're a real sweetheart, Ray Vecchio." Smooth, the "Ray" and the "Vecchio" falling lightly off her tongue. Elaine smiles.

Ray laughs. "Okay, who told you that?"

"Oh," Elaine says, grinning, "it was just something I heard."


End file.
